


I Thought of Angels Choking on Their Halos

by orphan_account



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: "Cured" Oswald, Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald, fresh out of Arkham, pays Jim a visit</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Thought of Angels Choking on Their Halos

When he opens the door their lines of vision connect like a fist to the face. Jim’s feet are pinned to the ground, stilled by the pressure of two immovable forces pulling him in two opposite directions; the urge to run away, or to surge forward and crash like an ocean over Oswald’s tiny frame shivering in the doorway. 

Oswald’s eyelashes flutter, as the image of Jim in front of him fills him up like the breath he didn’t know he was he holding. 

He hugs him, breath shaking, and balls his fists in Jim’s white t-shirt.

Jim stumbles with the force of the hug, then otherwise stills, and places and unsure hand on Oswald’s back. 

He looks down to watery eyes that still crinkle just at the corners with a smile. 

“I’m so happy to see you, Jim. I’ve missed you so dearly.” Oswald laughs, and Jim feels his mouth quirk in response, but the tension in his brow must give him away. Oswald smile fades, but only just. His hand on Jim’s arm feels like fire.

“May I come in?” Oswald asks, hopeful.

Jim steps back without really meaning to and Oswald moves past him into the living room of the apartment.

He sits on the couch, with his hands folded neatly over his lap, and looks around the room, beaming, seeing Jim in every inch of the place.

Jim shuts the door very, very slowly and inches around the perimeter of the room to the chair opposite Oswald.

Smiling wryly, Oswald cups a conspiratorial hand around his mouth. “I have something very important I’d like to tell you.” He reaches in his coat and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He smoothes it out and places it on the coffee table in front of Jim, sliding it over with two fingers.

Jim blinks down at the paper, then meets Oswald’s excited gaze with a questioning look.

“I’m legally sane. I-I’m cured. Look!” He gestures frantically at the paper. “Look.” He lets out a breathy giggle.

Jim feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

“I’m…”, he starts, eyes refusing to leave Oswald’s face, lest he misses a sudden tell-tale movement. “I’m happy for you. Oswald.”

Oswald leans forward, sets his hand on the table so that their fingers are just barely touching. “I like when you use my name.” His smiling mouth twitches at the corner. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”

Jim’s eyes trace the shapes of Oswald’s hand next to his. The cold of the room hits him abruptly with the stark clarity of _now_ , of the two of them here, alone, Jim in only his boxers and a t-shirt. He swallows down the feeling of being exposed.

Oswald’s hand withdraws suddenly, smile seemingly frozen on his face. “Would you be a dear and get me a drink, Jim? I’m afraid the trip up the stairs rather took its toll on me.”

“Um,” he blinks, “Yeah, sure. What do you want?”

“Oh, just a water. I’m living the sober life these days. It does _wonders_ for one’s health.”

Jim nods, and starts toward the kitchen, but can’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into him the whole way.

The sound of the ice machine on Jim’s fridge must cover the sound of Oswald’s uneven footsteps dragging up behind him, because when he turns around there can’t be more than an inch of space between their faces. 

Jim thinks of the knife he left on the counter earlier.

He starts to inch toward the glint of metal he sees out of the corner of his eye, but Oswald’s arms slam down on either side of him with unexpected force. 

“I thought about you all the time, Jim. In Arkham.” Oswald’s breath is hot against Jim’s skin. “Sometimes I even dreamed about you.”

Jim straightens and purposefully looms over Oswald, but feels warmth pool at the base of his gut, feels a tightness in his boxers that he tries to will away but Oswald is so, _so_ close. 

Oswald’s eyes dart down for barely a fraction of a second. He smiles sweetly, and plucks the cup of ice from Jim’s still-suspended hand, stepping back. 

“Bottled or tap?” He says, giving the glass a shake.

Jim says, “Tap”, the edge of the counter still digging into his lower back.

Oswald laughs lightly to himself for seemingly no reason, as he fills up the glass. Jim’s eyes trace the outline of Oswald’s neck and he swears he tastes blood.

“I’m not bad, Jim, just sick.” He says casually, not looking at Jim just yet. “That’s what the doctors said. Lovely people. There was this one nurse, Meghann, she always told the funniest stories.” He sips his drink, laughing softly at the memory, “There was this one she’d tell, about--” He catches the look Jim’s giving him. “Well,” he says, clasping his hands together, “It’s not important. What is important is that my treatment was a success. I’m a perfectly sane, healthy, and happy individual. And I just wanted you to know that.”

“I do. You’ve made a lot of progress, I can tell,” Jim lies.

His hand goes over his heart delicately, “Thank you, James.”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, no pro--”

The glass slams against the counter, water splashing out and pooling at the base. 

Back against the counter, Oswald’s snaps his head to the side, and looks at Jim. “Cards on the table?” He smiles, so innocently, but Jim thinks he looks so much older.

Then, Oswald kisses him.

It’s just a peck, soft and sweet, nothing that has any right making Jim want him _so fucking bad_.

And, maybe it’s just the desperation that’s been there for so long, the disbelief that this, the thing that he’d dream about and wake up with an itch in his skin that lasted all day, was actually happening, that made him wrap his arms around Oswald’s waist.

Oswald blinks up at him with pupils blown wide, his hands on the sides of Jim’s face, stroking his cheek with a gentleness Jim didn’t know Oswald had until now. He hums a contented sigh in the back of his throat.

“You know, I’m not a criminal anymore. I’ve given that all up.”

 _So, we can be together now_ is not spoken out loud, but both of them still manage to hear it loud and clear. 

Jim knows better, sees the all too familiar glint of danger in Oswald’s eyes, waiting, just under the surface, but the split second thought of picket fences and lazy Sundays that he’d never let himself dream of before is too much.

Jim doesn’t know what it sounds like when angels sing, but he’s pretty sure the rush of his pulse in his ears as Oswald leans in again is the closest he’s ever going to get, so he just...lets it be.

This kiss is rougher, more heated, _needy_ , but it’s clear to Jim that Oswald doesn’t have much experience in this area from the halting way Oswald’s lips move against his. He strokes down Oswald’s arm and takes his hand.

“I’ve got you.” 

Oswald holds him tight, tight enough that it hurts, nails digging into skin. “Do you love me?”

Jim says no, and kisses him hard.

The thought of Lee flares and fades with the sight of one of her shirts hanging on the bedroom doorknob as they stumble down the hall, hands grabbing absolutely everything and everywhere. Jim shoves the door open and thinks no more of it once Oswald’s jacket hits the floor.

Jim shoves him down onto the bed and climbs on top, hands tangling in Oswald’s hair, swallowing moan after moan before he latches onto Oswald’s neck. He leaving a possessive trail of hickeys blooming across his skin that make Jim think of roses in the springtime. He leans back on his knees, straddling slim hips, and sheds his t-shirt with one quick movement. Oswald traces a pale hand down Jim’s muscled chest, eyes wide and so fucking _beautiful_ that Jim can’t stand it. He rolls his hips and Oswald gasps.

“Why are you still dressed again?” 

“Oh.” Oswald says, breathy, as he looks down at his now quite wrinkled shirt. “Right. Sorry.” Jim’s fingers start working on the buttons on his shirt. “I’m sorry. 

I’m sorry, sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry...”

“Shh.” Jim kisses him, gently, rolls off of Oswald to better work the clothes off of his shoulders. 

Oswald sits up, and feels the air hit his bare skin in no time at all. Jim crawls up behind him, presses his chest flush against Oswald’s back, the skin-on-skin contact scorching. There are strong arms wrapping around him, Jim kissing his neck from behind, palming him through his trousers and Oswald fucking _melts_ into it, lets out a moan that rakes its way down Jim’s spine straight into his dick. 

“ _Fuck_ Oswald.”

And _that_ does something. Oswald spins around and _slams_ their mouths together so hard it hurts, and Jim thinks that maybe this should scare him, but all he feels is _please_

“ _Please, please, please…_ ”

Jim hits the bed, Oswald pinning his hands over his head and starts fucking grinding on Jim through his boxers, mouth latched onto his neck, and Jim’s sure he can feel the sharp scrape of teeth. 

He knows what Oswald’s doing, making sure he’s putting marks as high up on his neck as he can, so Jim won’t be able to hide it with the collar of his uniform. He’s marking Jim, signing him with purple love notes that bleed the words into his flesh: _“Mine._

_**Mine** , and no one else’s.”_

Oswald lets go of his hands and slides down, spreading open mouthed kisses along Jim’s collarbone. “Say my name.”

“Oswald.” Jim’s nails scrape against his back, feels Oswald paw at him through his boxers. “Oswald. Fuck, Oswald, Oswald.”

Then, he realizes, Oswald’s kisses are going lower.

“Am I a good man, Jim?”

“No.”

And lower.

“ _Do you love me?_ ”

Jim arches, up, helping Oswald slide his boxers off, his dick flopping out unceremoniously, and very, very in need of some attention.

Oswald slides his hands along Jim’s thighs and actually fucking licks his lips, eyes burning into Jim’s. Jim sucks in a breath, feeling a shiver run through him.

“I love you.”

Then, Oswald swallows him whole.

**Author's Note:**

> This 100% does not work with the actual timeline of the show shhh it's okay just go with it ;^)


End file.
